A night in Parma
by CommanderBugs
Summary: This is a story of Hannibal Lecter before he went to Rome and the various murders he committs.


The world was a quiet place for Abramo Issolini of the Polizia di Stato and this was partly due to the fact that he was a quiet man himself. He lived a simple life; he didn't have a family but was instead married to his work that took his life nowhere. It was the same drudging routine, every single day. At least that _used _to be so. Today was different. Today he would cross paths with the insatiable Hannibal Lecter.

The rain patted on the ground in rythmic tune with the vastly emptied streets of the nightlife in Parma Italy. The city was usually beaming with life and culture but tonight the cold weather drove them all to their warm beds in their warm homes. It didn't drive Abramo to his warm bed, though, but instead to the same place it always drove him; to his routine patrol at work. He liked the routine, though, and revered it moreso over than surprise any day of the week. Officer Issolini was pacing, generally keeping his face downward to avoid the rain, when he glanced up and saw someone ahead of him, seemingly dancing in the street.

"Ehi! Cosa stai facendo?" Abramo shouted to the man. The man continued to dance, oblivious to Abramo's demands. Abramo watched him for a moment before further interrogating him. His moves were graceful, beautiful, enchanting.

"I say. What are you doing sir!" Abramo was becoming irritated with the man's lack of care and respect for him and now showed it in his face and voice. Doctor Lecter turned to face him and now completely stopped dancing. He now stood straight and tall, mocking Officer Issolini and his tight form and sense of proper.

"Are you talking to me, man of the law?" Lecter asked in a seemingly drunken slur.

Abramo was taken aback. "Are you drunk, sir?" His face had switched from anger to disappointment.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Let us recall the drinks I've had this evening and we will let fate decide. Lets see… one glass of Domaine de la Romanee-Conti… no two glasses of Domaine de la Romanee-Conti, one glass of Dom Perignon, one glass of-." Officer Issolini cut him off, holding a hand up and beginning to speak into his radio.

"Station, ho bisogno di un pick-up su Valerie Lane, ... La costruzione di ISO. Ubriaco ha bisogno di assistenza." He looked to Hannibal. "I have called to have someone pick you up here. They will take you someplace to sleep for the night to get rid of your.. alchoholic tendencies. I will wait here with you until they arrive."

Hannibal clicked his tongue and waved his finger at Abramo, suddenly losing his tipsyness. "E 'considerato maleducato interrompere qualcuno quando parla, ufficiale Issolini. O Abramo è il tuo nome?"

A shocked expression flew over Abramo's face. This was one of those surpirses Issolini didnt like. "You speak Italian?"

Hannibal smiled an evil, crooked smile that would send a chill down one's spine. " I suddenly feel the need to sit. May we continue this conversation over by those beautiful benches?" Hannibal's evil smile switched to a pleasant one as he turned and began to walk to the aftly mentioned pair of benches. In confusion, Abramo followed almost a dog would to his master. "How much time do we have anyway? I mean, before your little piggy friends show up and crash the party."

Still confused Abramo stuttered, "uh.. fi- ten minutes." He stood haplessly in front of the now, comfortably seated doctor.

"splendid." Hannibal said, holding his bright smile. "Plenty of time for us to get to know one another. Where are you from? You speak with a beautiful accent."

"qui- I mean here. I was born and raised here."

Hannibal clicked his tongue in a patronizing way, "Now now officer, no one here speaks with your accent. Your accent is not pure."

"M-My mother is Italian but my father was French." Abramo curtly responded.

"_Was_? Is your father dead?" Hannibal asked.

"Yes. He died when I was fifteen."

"How sad." Hannibal now stood and began pacing in circles around the dazed officer. "And I will bet that when he died, you were so sad that you lost that strong male character that you seeked 'male character' in other boys your age am I right?"

Even more confused now, and slightly offended he responded, "W-What? What are you talking about?"

"Your a homosexual arent you?" Hannibal stated more than he asked, in a taunting way, "you like peters, and peter pans don't you?"

"What? No!" Abramo asked, becoming angry.

"I bet that you never married, never even been in a real relantionship..."

"I just never found the right-."

"I bet that you fantasized about me when I was dancing didnt you? Didn't you, you little queer?"

"Don't call me that!" Abramo, like a small child raised his hands to his ears and squited fiercly, holding back tears. "I am not a queer! I am not a queer!"

"I bet you are. I bet you are a-." Hannibal grasped his chest and fell to one knee, his falling to the wet pavement. Abramo brought his hands down and stopped crying. He stood there staring at Hannibal for a long moment before realizing the doctor was having a heart attack.

"Sir!" He exclaimed forgetting about all that just happened. He bent down to pick him up when a warmth washed over him. It was a nice warmth, relieving him of the cold, wet reality of things. He gasped and felt the warmth deepen. The same Hannibal Lecter that was thought to be having a heart attack now had a hand plunged into his chest and in his hand, moreso in Abramo's chest was a blade.

Hannibal leaned up and whispered in his ear as he laid him back to the wet earth. "You are a queer arent you?"

Crying Abramo nodded and spoke in a loud, crying voice, "Yes!" as he said this blood spouted from his lips, his left lung having been filled nearly half full with his own blood.

Hannibal smiled. "For your honesty I will make your death quick and I, as well as should you, will respect it. Your entire life meant nothing until now. Unlike before, you will now serve a purpose... or should I say be served with porpoise." His evil smile returned, he looked into the more-distant eyes of Abramo and twisted the knife allowing his lung to completley fill and watch the life drain out of him as his blood drained on the ground beneath him.


End file.
